


Conclusions

by durgasdragon



Series: Alone [5]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26353432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/durgasdragon/pseuds/durgasdragon
Summary: Sometimes, the correct answer is the simplest one.The Falconers start putting things together and mostly, get the correct answer.
Relationships: Alexei "Tater" Mashkov/Dustin "Snowy" Snow
Series: Alone [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1301657
Comments: 24
Kudos: 42





	1. Thirdy

**Author's Note:**

> Send nice vibes to [Twistedmiracle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/pseuds/twistedmiracle) for beta'ing this and whipping it into shape because there was a **lot** of editing required. Seriously, _so much_ editing.
> 
> As per usual, any foreign words should be translated if you hover your mouse over it (and will be listed in the end notes); if I miss one, let me know and I'll fix it!

** Conclusions **

_Beta’d by Twistedmiracle_

_Disclaimer: This is a purely fan-made piece using the world and characters from Ngozi Ukazu’s_ Check Please! _, and is made entirely for enjoyment. No financial gain has been made in the making of this piece. All other situations and plot developments are mine._

_Summary: Sometimes, the correct answer is the simplest one._

_The Falconers start putting things together and mostly, get the correct answer._

_Fifth in the_ Alone _series._

_Author’s Note: Tater and Snowy, for the WIN! The more we have, the better this world is. Still don’t know anything about hockey. Still don’t speak Russian or Ukrainian. Or French. Definitely don’t speak French, not of any kind. Possible out-of-characterness. Beta’d by Twistedmiracle._

_Constructive criticism and comments are always welcomed._

_Published: 8 September 2020_

_Rating: T_

“Tater!”

Tater stops pacing and looks over. Thirdy points to the empty chair next to him. “Sit,” he orders firmly, but not ungently. “Take a deep breath, count to ten, and let it out slowly. It’ll all be fine.”

He can see Tater attempting to follow his instructions, but it takes him three tries before he doesn’t look like he wants to vomit anymore.

“Okay, that’s good,” Thirdy praises. “It’s gonna be fine. It’s all gonna be fine. It’s probably nothing, okay? Snowy’s gonna need a few days of rest, and then he’ll be back on the ice with us all.”

“…But what if he is not?” Tater says, panic and worry vying for supremacy on his face. “What if he is hurt so bad he cannot play rest of season or ever again?”

“It wasn’t that bad for _you_ ,” the older man points out. “And let me tell you, you went down _far_ more dramatically than Snowy did. It’s probably just something with his knees and after he rests up, he’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

Tater let out a slow breath. “Will be fine,” he mumbled to himself before muttering a few things in Russian.

When Tater stays put, Thirdy sits back a little. He knew Tater and Snowy were close, but this is a little much.

It’s not that Thirdy isn’t concerned about Snowy, but knee injuries for a goalie are a dime a dozen; Snowy’s had at least one per season for as long as Thirdy’s known him. It’s not ideal, but the drill is a familiar one. Snowy will be crabby and out for a few games, spend more time than usual cursing on Brian’s table, and then he’ll be back on the ice, stopping pucks like it’s nothing again.

Tater, on the other hand, is acting as if his wife is having complications in the delivery of his first-born, and not like this is (probably) just a simple knee injury.

Besides, Thirdy’s wife’s been going on and on about the ‘powers of positive thinking’ recently, so now is as good a time as any to practice it. So he tells himself Snowy’s injury is minor and he’ll be back on the ice in no time, and they’re not going to get knocked down twenty ranks or so because Tommie-boy just isn’t as good.

If he’s trying to think happy thoughts, maybe Thirdy should _stop_ thinking about Tommie-boy and that _bone-headed_ mistake he made in the first period and then _repeated_ it in the second—

The _point is_ , Snowy’s probably gonna be _fine_.

Tater fidgets and taps his fingers and bounces his leg, and Thirdy makes himself count backwards from twenty, like he’s always telling his daughter to do. Yelling at his teammate isn’t going to make the situation better.

A nurse comes out. “You two can come on in now.”

Tater’s out of his chair so fast he nearly tipped it over. Thirdy rolls eyes a little bit and straightens up Tater’s chair. He nods his thanks to the nurse and heads in to the room.

Tater is _right_ next to Snowy—seriously, the guy’s been in the U.S.A. long enough he should know what a proper space bubble is by now—and he’s got his hand braced on the table next to the shorter man; he’s practically leaning over Snowy and Snowy’s—

— _Soft_ is a word Thirdy’s never thought he’d apply to their foul-mouthed, salty goalie, but that’s the first word that immediately pops into his head as Snowy looks up at Tater.

Snowy reaches up and lets his hand rest on the side of Tater’s neck as he says something quietly to the large Russian, and one doesn’t have to be a genius to know any interruption right now would be _extremely_ unwelcome.

Suddenly, Tater’s panic and fear make a hell of a lot more sense.

It also makes a whole lot more sense why Snowy’s been so damn squirrelly about coming over for dinner with Sofia and why he’s always making excuses why he can’t.

Thirdy steps back and carefully shuts the door. He shakes his head slightly, but smiles. “Crazy kids,” he mutters and starts down the hall.

He’ll find out how Snowy’s knee is doing later.


	2. Marty

“ _Salut_ , Snowy, _ça va?_ ” Marty hefts the covered glass pan up slightly . “Gabby sent over a meal—would you like me to stick it in your refrigerator?”

“Yes, please.” Awkwardly, Snowy smacks the door with a crutch to shut it and locks it before taking Marty’s coat and hanging it up on one of the hooks by the door. “What did she send?”

“Shepherd’s pie. She taped the cooking instructions to the top so you’d know what to do.” Marty steps out of his shoes and kicks them off to the side so Snowy won’t trip on them.

“You can help yourself to a beer or something while you’re in there,” Snowy says as he hobbles over to his monstrously huge couch.

“ _Merci_. You want me to grab you anything?”

“Nah, I’ve got some water over here, so I’m good.” He carefully tucks his crutches next to the arm of the couch so they’ll be out of the way.

Marty comes over and settles down on an overstuffed armchair. “So, how’s the P.T. going?”

Snowy shrugs. “Slower than I’d like. Supposedly, I’m making progress.”

“Hate to break it to you, kid, but your recovery time is directly proportional to your age. The older you get, the longer it takes.”

“Don’t fuckin’ remind me.”

Marty laughs at his pained expression. “Only gets better from here,” he says before taking a swig from his beer. “But seriously, keep up your P.T.—we need you on the ice again. We won’t get very far in the playoffs if you don’t get back soon.”

“I knew your well-wishes had a fuckin’ ulterior motive.”

“The team’s not the same without you cussing out everyone.”

Snowy snorts. “I can fix that in a heartbeat.”

Marty chuckles, but before he can say anything, he hears the door the door unlock and open.

“Снежныёк!” Tater’s voice rings out and then he calls out something incomprehensible.

Snowy’s eye roll is surprisingly gentle. “Shut the fuck up, Tater, or my neighbours will complain again. Also, get your ass in here and be polite—Marty’s here.”

Tater sticks his head in. “Hello! Hi, Marty. How are you?” He shrugs off his coat and steps back into the foyer to presumably hang it up before he comes in to the room. He perches on the arm of the couch next to Snowy. “You come and see how our goalie is doing, да?”

“Gabby sent over food,” Snowy says.

“Gabby is wonderful woman,” Tater immediately replies. “Too good for such old man like Marty!”

“Gabby is an intelligent and beautiful woman of discernment, which is why she married _me_ and not _you_ ,” Marty retorts.

“Was failing in judgement for her.” Tater nods seriously. “Mistake she can never escape.”

“Fuck you,” Marty snorts. “Admit it—you're jealous you'll never get a woman even _half_ as amazing her, because even _then_ she'd be too smart to marry you.”

“Is true,” Tater sighs dramatically. “Will never get woman as smart as Gabby, да, Долгожданная?” He smiles a little bit down at Snowy, as if they’re sharing some sort of private joke.

“ _Насиро всравсиа_ ,” Snowy mutters, but he looks away and maybe it’s a trick of the lighting, but his cheeks might be rosier than they were a moment ago.

“Is okay. B makes me pies, and Gabby sends me food, and Snowy cooks it for me,” Tater declares cheerfully, still grinning at their goalie and he laughs as Snowy swats him.

“Get your own goddamn food, you fuckin’ leech!”

“Now, Радость моя, be nice to me. I think you not liking me when you are mean. Maybe I leave with sadness because of that!”

“Door's right there. Don't let it hit you on the way out, eh?”

“Любимый моя!” Tater protests before he clutches at his chest. “Hurt me in my _heart_ , Снежныёк! In my _heart!_ I thought you _loved_ me, but how wrong am I!”

Marty rolls his eyes at the Russian’s theatrics. “Tater, why are you not used to this yet? Snowy doesn’t love _any_ of us.”

“Снежныёк! Nooooo!”

“…That’s it, no more _Star Wars_ for you.” Snowy looks like he can’t decide whether he wants to be pained or entertained by the whole exchange. “Here. Go make yourself fuckin’ useful or something. Recycle this, see if Marty needs another beer, and get me another water. _Будь ласка._”

Tater clasps their goalie’s shoulder. “Only because you ask so nicely.” He stands up. “Marty, you want more beer?”

“Nah, I’m good, _merci_.” Marty hands Tater his bottle. A suspicion is growing, but he pushes it aside and tries to ignore it for the moment. He’ll examine it later.

To distract himself a little bit, he looks around the room. “You’ve got a nice place here, Snowy. When you’re a bit more mobile, you’ll have to give me the grand tour.”

“Oh, I can do that now!” Tater says brightly. He hands a new bottle of water to the injured man. “I know all about Snowy’s home. I show you whole thing.”

Snowy shakes his head. “Fine. Whatever.”

Tater beams and says something in Russian before cheerfully beckoning Marty to follow him.

The tour doesn’t take long and it’s a great place, but it’s in the spacious, classy bathroom Marty notices a few things in rapid succession: There are two toothbrushes, two different razors, two different deodorants, and two bottles of different cologne on the counter, cluttering it up a little bit. The heated towel rack has _far_ too many towels on it, even for someone as meticulous and vain as Snowy. The shower products are crowded and awkwardly placed, as if they are still getting used to a new system. There is nothing on the counter or in the shower a woman would use.

And Marty really can’t ignore that _both_ bedside tables have books and chargers and other assorted clutter when he glances into the bedroom.

He also realises he hasn’t seen a single picture of Sofia _anywhere_.

The bathroom, the bedside tables, the lack of pictures, and the fact Tater had his own key are all pretty clear indications of what’s going on here. Marty steals a quick glance as Tater blabbers on cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to Marty’s recent epiphany.

Marty debates quickly whether he should say anything and decides not to after a moment. If Snowy and Tater wanted it to be explicit, they would have said something upfront.

Still. Tater looks happy. And it’s not his usual overexuberant cheerfulness—it’s something a little more settled, a little more centred. Snowy doesn’t appear happy, but he looks way more relaxed than he did the last time he was laid up with an injury and he hasn’t sworn nearly as much as usual, so it’s probably safe to say he’s just as pleased as Tater is.

Marty’s happy for them; they’re good for each other.

There’s only one thing—he’s going to have to figure out a way to fine them properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut Snowy, ça va?—Hello Snowy, how goes it?  
> Merci—Thank you.  
> Снежныёк—Snowy (affectionate).  
> Да—Yes.  
> Да, Долгожданная—Yes, my long-awaited.  
> Насиро всравсиа—Smartass.  
> Радость моя—My joy.  
> Любимый моя—My beloved (masculine).  
> Будь ласка—Please.


	3. Georgia

All Georgia really wants to do is go home, grab a bottle of wine, turn on some brainless television, and put her feet up. Don’t get her wrong, she loves her job, but there are just _some days_ …

And today has been one of _those_ days. Maybe she’ll get a box of chocolates to go with the wine because she sure as hell _earned_ it today.

She pushes open the door to the nook and spots Snowy and Tater standing off to the side. Normally, she’d greet them because Tater’s effervescence is always a soothing balm on hard days while Snowy’s acidity is good for a nice solidarity hate, but there’s something about the two that makes her hang back. She doesn’t know why at first, and then Tater leans forward into Snowy’s personal space, smiling softly. And that itself isn’t weird or unusual—Tater still has a bit of trouble with what Americans consider to be an acceptable amount of personal space versus what Russians consider to be acceptable—but the difference today is _Snowy doesn’t pull away_. In fact, he even tilts forwards slightly.

The average person wouldn’t notice anything strange about this, but Georgia’s worked with Snowy for a few years now, and she’s never seen him respond that way to someone getting up close and personal before. He’s someone who had always valued his space bubble, to the point she’s had to deal with an incident or two where a fan had been a little _too_ insistent on standing a little _too_ close. He’s better about people he knows, but he still is one of the more distant members of the team.

And yet, there’s Tater, standing too close and Snowy’s not freaking out. Hell, Snowy’s body language is even suggesting he’s _encouraging_ it.

Tater laughs and even from the distance she’s at, Georgia can see he’s enamoured. And when Snowy rolls his eyes, the gesture is _far_ too soft to be one of real annoyance.

It's the sort of gesture she's seen her parents and grandparents use on each other.

It's the sort of thing people who are stupidly happy together used to try and pretend they aren't stupidly happy together.

Georgia steps back and shuts the door silently before she scrubs her hand over her face and resists the urge to scream. God _damn_ it. God _damn_ it _all_. This is going to be _such_ a logistical nightmare. Maybe she can get drunk and lose all memory of this.

As soon as the thought crosses her mind, she shakes it away. She needs to start planning _now_ , for when they decide to go public, so there’s something in place. Besides, there’s no guarantee they _will_ want to make a statement or come out or anything like that (Snowy has been coming to family skate and other events like that with that blonde, Sofia), but even if Snowy and Tater don’t come out, _somebody_ will, down the line, and she might as well start thinking about it. She’d been lucky with Jack and Eric—Jack had told her in advance and Eric didn’t play professionally.

Oh, Jesus. She doesn’t even want to _think_ about what will happen if Snowy or Tater gets traded.

Georgia sighs. So much for a quiet evening at home with a bottle of wine.

As she drags herself back to her office to grab a few things to try and get started on dealing with this, she can’t help but think of how those two players look at each other. It makes her think Zimmermann might have some competition for most smitten player in the League.

And if Georgia wants to be honest, it’s one of the sweetest things she’s seen in a while, even _if_ it’s going to make her life far more difficult.


	4. Brian

Brian likes to think he's an easy-going guy who knows how to keep his mouth shut. He's seen a lot at his job—everything from the minor issues (stubbed toes, jammed fingers, paper cuts that won't seem to stop bleeding) to the serious (torn ligaments, broken bones, massive concussions) to the embarrassing (burns from children spilling coffee on… _sensitive_ areas, flogging welts, removing objects that were never meant to be inside _any_ human orifice)—and he knows what to expect from most of the players. He keeps their secrets and he's discreet (the team would chirp Mickey mercilessly if they knew his youngest has decided _everything_ should be wedged in his nostril, or Timmers if they learned his shoulder injury came from slipping in his driveway instead of trying to teach a cute girl how to ski, or Smith once they found out he accidentally wiped his butt with poison oak the one (and only) time he tried hiking).

Because of his acumen and tact, most of the guys usually like to talk to him and Brian is humbled by their trust. It's nice to know they think he's safe.

Snowy comes in from some P.T. for his knee and a deep tissue massage, and Brian is a little surprised to notice a few hickeys on the goalie’s skin. He's never seen love bites on Snowy before and he always assumed it’s because Sofia isn't into chomping down on her boyfriend.

The marks are discreet, so they can be easily hidden, but they’re clearly there. There’s no way Sofia could have missed them, and since they’re all in various stages of healing…whatever it is, it’s not a one-off and it’s been going on for a while.

Brian doesn’t like to think the worst of people, but he’s struggling to come up with a narrative that fits the information in front of him. Snowy doesn’t _seem_ like the kind who would cheat, but…

Then there’s the fact Snowy’s almost…relaxed. Brian’s never seen him this calm when he’s had an injury before. In fact, he's not sure he's _ever_ seen Snowy this relaxed; usually, Snowy's back has more knots than a string bin in a kindergarten classroom because that's where he holds all his tension and today…Brian's counted _maybe_ five. It might not have even gotten up that high.

Brian’s worked on guys who’ve been cheating, both before their wife or girlfriend found out and after; the ones before sometimes are more relaxed, but the ones after? Never.

Brian carefully asks a few questions, but Snowy deftly sidesteps them. It’s quickly apparent he’s not in a sharing mood, so Brian drops it. He still worries, though.

And then Tater bursts in, loud and happy. “Hello! Hi, Brian. How is Дорогй моя doing today? Has he filled card and earned free massage?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Snowy says, barely lifting his head. “And go away. Let me have some healing peace and quiet or whatever.”

“So not nice,” Tater chides affectionately, a soft smile flickering over his face before he looks up. “But am here to talk to Brian. I have been thinking about future! I love hockey, but I cannot do forever, so I try to think what I do instead. Am not as pretty as Zimmboni or Snowy, so must do _real_ work!”

“ _Чорт тебе бери_ ,” Snowy mutters, but it lacks its normal bite. In fact, it borders on fond.

Tater continues, clearly undeterred. “And I think ‘maybe I do like Brian. Maybe I do massage and physical things for people.’ So I come and ask what to do so I can think about it.”

“There’s quite a bit of schooling involved,” Brian says, grateful for the distraction from Snowy’s…marks Tater’s providing. “And a test and certification.”

“That sounds like lots of work.”

“It is, but I thought it was worth it.”

“But of course!” Tater nods. “And now you do good things for all of us, so is very worth it. Is something to think about, да?” He gently pokes the prone goalie. “Maybe I go to schooling and then I practice on you.”

“And fuck up all of Brian’s hard work? I don’t think so,” Snowy says, tilting his head slightly and peering out from one cracked eye. “Stop trying to end my goddamn career, you fuckin’ jackass.”

Tater laughs quietly, face bright and soft. “Okay, ненаглядный моя. I will not practice on you, but you will be sorry when I get good and I do not give you massage.”

“That’ll just have to be a risk I’m willing to take, eh?” Snowy turns his head a bit more and meets Tater’s eye and— _oh_.

Oh, that…might explain a lot, actually.

No _wonder_ Snowy is so relaxed.

Maybe Sofia never really was a thing in the first place, not with Snowy looking at Tater like _that_.

Brian averts eyes and busies himself with wiping the excess oils off from his hands and cleaning up a bit. He makes a quick excuse and tells them he’ll be back in a moment, not that they really seem to hear him. He shuts the door firmly behind him.

He’ll give them a moment and he’ll make sure to knock— _loudly_ —when he comes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Дорогй моя—My dear (masculine).  
> Чорт тебе бери—The devil take you.  
> Да—Yes.  
> Ненаглядный моя—My dear (wondrously beautiful) (masculine).


	5. Poots

“Do we know when Snowy’s coming back?” Poots asks Guy as they head to the locker room after practice. “Because it’s getting kind of quiet here.”

And there’s also the fact it’s just not the same with Tommie-boy as the goalie. Snowy is a _lot_ harder to get a puck past, so if you _do_ make a goal, it’s something to brag about. With Tommie-boy…the satisfaction was there for the first couple of goals, but it petered off pretty quickly after that. It’s just not an accomplishment with Tommie-boy like it is with Snowy.

Guy shrugs. “Ask Tater,” he grunts.

“Oh, yeah, those two are pretty close, aren’t they? Makes sense that Tater’d be the one to help him out for some of that stuff.”

Guy shrugs again and goes over to his locker, signalling the end of the conversation.

Poots rolls with it; Guy’s not a talker and has probably used up his allotment for the day when he answered Poots. It’s all cool.

Poots cleans up and gets into something that’s not soaked in sweat before he hunts down Tater. He finds the larger man propped outside of the Trainer’s Room, hair still damp from the showers and scrolling through his mobile.

“Hey Tater,” he greets him. “Crazy practice, yeah?”

“Да, very crazy. But you look very nice on ice! So much good skating. I am impressed with your edge. All hard work you do for it is making difference."

Poots preens a little. Tater has some of the best edgework in the league, being as precise as a surgeon's knife (he credits his mother for this) so if he's saying Poots has gotten better, it means Poots has gotten a _lot_ better; the extra practices are paying off. "Thanks."

Tater shrugs. “You work hard and I am telling you it shows.”

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask you," Poots says after a moment as the large man pockets his mobile. "You're pretty close with Snowy, aren't you? When's he coming back?"

"You can ask him yourself—he is in with Brian now and will be done very soon."

"Snowy is here today? He didn't come to the rink to cuss us out." Usually, if Snowy's out on an injury and they're practicing, he sits in the front row and heckles the shit out of them like a drunk uncle at their least favourite relative's amateur magic show. It's equal parts hilarious and offensively annoying.

“Long morning with Brian and healing,” says Tater. “He much rather be yelling at us on ice, but too much work here. Must put in all the time so can get plaque in Trainer’s Room.”

Brian has chosen this moment to open the door and Snowy says “shut the fuck up, Tater”, his voice a little slurry like it is after a good massage.

Tater laughs, light and bright, and goes into the room. “Долгожданная, Poots is asking about you!”

Snowy blinks and slowly drags his gaze over. “Poots,” he greets, still sounding a little out of it. “What’s up?”

Poots leans against the door jamb. “Just wondering how much longer your ass is going to be warming the bench.”

“Brian’s going to tell me the answer to that next week, so eat it.”

Poots grins. Now _this_ is more like it. He’d never admit it out loud, but he kind of misses Snowy’s foulness. “Yeah, you _wish_. Your ass isn’t good enough to tempt me, you fucker.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re fuckin’ jealous you’ll never ever get close to so much perfection ever again.”

“You must admit,” Tater interjects, “Snowy has hockey butt as good as Zimmboni’s.”

“Fuck that, it’s _better_ ,” Snowy mutters.

“Zimmermann’s been working out,” Poots says. “And you haven’t. His butt is probably better.”

“Fuck you, you wouldn’t know a good ass if it came up and shook itself in your face.”

“Now Snowy,” Tater steps in, “be nice. Poots can not help he does not have good taste.”

“Hey!” Poots protests.

“And Poots, you can not help Snowy is very vain about his ass.”

“I’m allowed to be vain about one of my best features,” Snow mumbles. “Besides, you love my ass. Don’t even try to pretend differently.”

“I like hockey butts and I cannot lie,” Tater says very solemnly.

They look at each other for a minute and then they all crack up.

“Damnit, Tater,” Poots wheezes out a moment later. “Nobody wants to know that shit!”

“Sir Mix-a-Lot made lots of money telling people about his likes, so why can’t I?” Tater shrugs.

“Sir Mix-a-Lot can rap,” Snowy says, adjusting his oversized towel as he slowly pushes himself into a sitting position. “And you can’t, that’s why.” The corner of his mouth quirks up.

“So not _nice_ , ненаглядный моя. So not _nice!_ ” Tater clutches his chest, but the smile playing over his face is bright and delighted. “How could you say such things to me?”

“Very easily,” Snowy shoots back. “Especially since they’re _true_ , eh?”

“See Poots,” Tater says, “see what I must face, every day.”

Poots lifts his shoulders. “Well, he’s not wrong, so…”

“Нет, Poots! That is also not nice!”

“The truth hurts,” he intones and Tater makes another indignant sound while Snowy chokes back a laugh.

Brian comes back in, glancing over the group. “Snowy, you should be good to go; don’t forget to drink lots of water to flush your system.”

“Yup, I know the drill.” Snowy turns his attention towards his teammates. “Go away. I’d like to get dressed without you guys salivating over my ass.”

“Well, is nice ass! Cannot blame us.” Tater winks in an exaggerated fashion.

Brian—who isn’t as used to the locker room banter as Poots is—coughs slightly and his ears turn pink. Poots decides to cut the guy a little slack and not embarrass him further. “Well, Snowy,” he says, “hope we’ll see you on the ice soon! Take care of that knee!"

"Don't worry," Tater jumps in. "I make sure he is careful, да? No mistakes on my watch. Like how he did for me.”

“So this is revenge,” Snowy mutters. “I knew it. See if I help you out the next time you get injured.”

Poots laughs at Tater’s expression and waves before heading out.

As he throws his stuff into the back of his car, he reflects on what he just saw.

He had known that Tater and Snowy were close, but he hadn’t realised that they were _that_ close.

It must be nice to play on the same team as your best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Да—Yes.  
> Долгожданная—My long-awaited.  
> Ненаглядный моя—My dear (wondrously beautiful) (masculine).  
> Нет—No.


	6. Tater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note--I use GSRM (Gender, Sexual, and Romantic Minorities) here instead of LGBTQA+ for a couple of reasons. One, it's shorter; two, I feel it's a more inclusive term; and three, there's space for future understandings.
> 
> I figure most people wouldn't be familiar with it, so I thought I'd throw that out there for all you lovely people!

Tater’s pretty sure this is what the first level of heaven must be like. His head is in Snowy’s lap as the television murmurs in the background and all of Snowy’s clever fingers work their magic on Tater’s scalp. Tater’s muscles have the consistency of pudding right about now.

It’s awesome.

“I think Marty knows,” Snowy says out of the blue. “About us.”

Tater makes a questioning sound because that’s all he’s capable of at the moment.

"He made a comment to me about upping the team’s contribution to You Can Play this year and how I could help with that, and the way he said it…I don't know, it felt like he was fining me without actually fining me. And since he did something similar to Zimmermann before the whole Cup thing…I think he knows."

Tater hums. "You okay with that?" He mumbles, trying to kick his higher thought process out of its contented stupor.

"I don't know."

_Oh._ This is not a conversation they should have with most of Tater's brain blissed out; not with that tone of voice. Tater peels open his eyes and reluctantly reaches up. He catches one of Snowy's hands and untangles it from his hair, leaving the other hand there before lightly kissing Snowy's fingertips and folding his hand between his larger ones on his chest.

Snowy, thankfully, takes the hint and stops petting Tater's hair with his free hand. He does, however, leave it on Tater's head, which is nice. "I don't know I’m ready for…what being out to the team would mean," he says quietly. "I didn’t think we were being particularly obvious, but if Marty’s talking to us about doing more for a GSRM group…we weren’t being as discrete as I’d hoped. I don't want to hide you," he adds quickly, "but I…I want no more attention paid to us than say, Poots's new girlfriend. And we both know it won't be that fucking simple or quiet for us if we start telling people. And if the team openly knows…somebody’ll chirp us at the wrong moment in front of the wrong person, and it’ll all go to shit from there."

Tater hums in acknowledgement.

"I don't think Marty's the only one," Snowy says after a few moments. "Brian hasn't asked me about Sophia the last three times I’ve seen him, and that's usually a staple conversational piece for him. And I feel like Thirdy's been…careful when he's talked to me recently."

"He has been talking weird to me as well," Tater puts in. "Very deliberate and saying things like 'Tater, you come to dinner some time soon, yes? And you bring whomever you like. We will welcome all!'"

"He hasn't been that overt with me, but yeah, he’s been a little _too_ inclusive with his language. And speaking of language, Georgia gave me a speech about giving her advance notice on any announcements I might be thinking about making so she could pull the proper press release for me.”

“She did? She said similar things to me.”

“So Georgia knows for _sure_ ,” Snowy sighs heavily. “Fuckin’ _somehow_. Do you think anyone else knows?”

“Guy might suspect, but is hard to tell with Guy,” Tater offers after some consideration. “I do not think Tommie-Boy or Frankie or Timmers or any of them know, but…” He shrugs awkwardly. His thumbs start gently stroking the hand in between his. "I did not tell anyone other than Little B and Zimmboni, so I do not know how people learned about us."

"It's probably all your fucking googly heart eyes that gave us away, eh?" Snowy mutters, but his face is almost tender as he looks down. "Subtle you are not."

Tater reaches up with one hand, letting his other one tangle more firmly with Snowy's. He brushes his fingertips against Snowy's cheek. "If I was obvious, Poots would ask me about it," he says, smiling softly. “I think it is you who gives us away. You have big, happy face looking at me.”

“Lies and slander.”

“Denial,” Tater fires back and Snowy’s mouth curves upwards.

He turns serious after a moment. “What do you want to do about…this? How do you want to address it?”

Tater turns the question over a few times in his head. “Well…we could not do anything,” he says slowly. “Just be… _us_ and make no statement. Be thing everyone knows about, but is never said. We are already halfway there.”

Snowy purses his lips. “We are, aren’t we.” He is silent for a moment. “We’ll have to have a conversation with Georgia if we move in together, but other than that…it sounds like almost everyone else already knows.”

“Except Poots and all rookies.”

“Except Poots and all the rookies,” Snowy agrees. “And it means we have to be more careful whenever we leave the house.”

“I know,” Tater says simply. “If we want no media following us and we want to not blurt out to team, we will have to work on not being so obvious.”

“I just…I don’t want you to feel…” Snowy pauses and takes a deep breath. “I don’t want you to think that I want you to be my dirty little secret.”

“Снежныёк, not yelling relationship to world is how privacy _works_. Besides, Hockey Friend Tater is not Real Alexei, да? Hockey Friend Tater is made for fans; is only part of Real Alexei. If we get trapped in corner, maybe we say something, but if we do not…” Tater shrugged before smiling, a bit wickedly. “This way, I keep you all to myself. I like no sharing!”

“Fine. And if it all goes sideways, _you_ get to be the one who deals with all the social media shit.”

“Only if you do all paperwork Georgia gives us after.”

“Deal.” Snowy combs his fingers absently through Tater’s hair and Tater feels his muscles start to go lax again.

“Now, we talk about important things,” Tater announces before his brain can completely shut off.

Snowy looks down at him, eyebrow raised. “Oh? And what were we _just_ doing?”

“We were negotiating. Now, we go on to other things. Like, you said we should move in together.”

“I said ‘ _if_ ’. _If_ we move in together.”

“My lease is done in two months. I accept offer.”

“ _Позашлюбний_ ,” Snowy says. “Why the fuck would I want you to move in with me?” Despite his words, the corner of his mouth is twitching, like he’s trying to stop it from curling up.

Tater smirks. “I think of couple of reason.” He lets his voice drop a few octaves and his smile gets a little more genuine when Snowy’s icy eyes immediately flicker to his mouth.

“I fucking doubt that, but in the interest of fairness, I’m willing to hear your argument,” says Snowy, cheeks picking a faint pinkish dusting.

Tater grins and reaches up again. “Your wish is my command.”

As he tugs Snowy’s mouth down to his, Tater knows it won’t be easy or simple, but he’ll have Zimmboni and Little B and the team and—most importantly—Snowy at his side. Speculation might happen, conclusions might be drawn, but even if the correct ones are reached, he will weather them.

Because Tater knows he isn’t alone.

_x Fin x_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Снежныёк—Snowy (affectionate).  
> Да—Yes.  
> Позашлюбний—Bastard.


End file.
